


Off the Clock

by gritsinmisery



Series: Off [4]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Minor Violence, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritsinmisery/pseuds/gritsinmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie watches the clock</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Off" challenge at [](http://community.livejournal.com/teaandswissroll/profile)[**teaandswissroll**](http://community.livejournal.com/teaandswissroll/).

Off the Clock

The time.

He needed to mind the time.

He couldn't remember why… Thinking was hard when he was so thirsty.

The canteen sloshed hollowly when he picked it up. _Oh. That was why._ He was rationing water. He'd already made it go further than it was meant to.

The food was gone. He could go without for a long time; had done, in Africa. But Africa was where he learned that you had to have water. And when there wasn't much, you had to make it last.

He had to ration himself. Had to mind the time.

The time.

He squinted at the clock; his eyes dry.

Noon.

He ran through the litany again, to keep it straight. To keep himself sane.

Three weeks and four days since Finley phoned with his tale of incompetence and woe.

Three weeks, three days since he left on a fortnight's 'holiday;' since he went off the CI-5 clock.

Three weeks and eight hours since he and Finley raided this nest of IRA gunrunners.

Three weeks, seven and three-quarters hours since the bullet went through his leg. Since the last time he saw Finley. Since he'd started lying to his captors, swearing he was just another merc.

One week and three days since he was due back at HQ.

Three days and twelve hours since his captors chained him to the bed, with a canteen of water, two bacon sarnies, and three apples, swearing the run to Ireland never took more than two days. "We'd take you, test your mettle, but with that leg…"

Twenty-four hours since he ate the last apple.

Six hours since his last sip of water. It was time.

The time.

He had to mind the time. Had to make the water last. Had to stay sane.


End file.
